


Tokens of Affection

by Keibey



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:03:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keibey/pseuds/Keibey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lazy morning spent in tangled bedsheets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tokens of Affection

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Slaine! And whoop second season is starting! ( ﾉ^ω^)ﾉ
> 
> Translation into Russian available [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3981840) by KillPlux!

It wasn’t cooling bedsheets on the other side of the bed or insistent beeping of the alarm clock that woke Slaine that morning, but sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains into the room. Burying his face into his pillow, his hands flexed instinctively as he tried to curl up, only to find that he was already grasping onto something soft and warm that gave a comforting squeeze back. Blearily he opened his eyes, and it took several blinks and a long, disorientated moment for it to register that he was holding onto a hand, and that Inaho’s side of the bed wasn’t empty. He turned his head to follow the arm up to the familiar face and black hair, and for a few seconds his mind just wandered, trying to remember the last time he had seen it sleep tousled.

“’Naho?” The first part of the brunet’s name was lost somewhere between Slaine’s brain and his throat, but the brown eyes left the book to look at him anyway.

“It’s still early,” Inaho said in a tone that passed as indulgent for him, “You can go back to sleep if you want.”

His limbs still felt heavy with sleep, but Slaine managed to wound his arms around the slim waist, pulling himself close. Inaho only shifted so that Slaine’s head wasn’t in the way of his reading, the page turn ruffling his hair each time. There was something in the familiar clean scent of the sweater and Inaho that warmed him. Belatedly, a thought occurred to him as he listened to the soothing rhythm of the brunet’s breaths. “Don’t you have work, Inaho?” he asked a little guiltily.

“I have the day off; as do you.” The brown eyes took on that amused glint as Inaho turned his attention back to the novel. “Your secretary doesn’t seem to understand what that means.”

Slaine let out a quiet laugh despite himself, deciding it was time to give up correcting the brunet on his subordinate’s title. “What did you say to Harklight-san this time?”

“Nothing that bears repeating.” Slaine hummed skeptically at that, but Inaho had started scratching his nails gently over Slaine’s scalp, and the pleasant tingling it induced was making him drowsy again.

“It’s rare for you to sleep in,” he mumbled sleepily as he leaned into the touch.

“I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“Hmm?” The hand left his hair, and Slaine turned to watch Inaho take his left hand, fanning out his fingers to slide a ring onto the fourth one. It wasn’t a closed band, one end twisting down elegantly while the other curved above into a delicate, unfurled wing that most people would assume belonged to a dragon, but Slaine caught the inside joke just fine.

“Is this,” he looked up to meet the calm gaze, “a proposal?”

“If it is a proposal,” the soft voice was level and steady with the familiar confidence that Slaine admired, “Do you have a problem with that?”

“You’re taking advantage of the fact that I’m not a morning person,” Slaine fought to keep his expression serious as he tried to keep his tone stern, “My judgement is impaired.”

There was no trace of remorse in the slight smirk on Inaho’s face. “Was I caught?”

“Have I reminded you lately that your personality is horrible?” Slaine laughed, feeling the traitorous curve of a smile on his lips as he leaned up to kiss Inaho. “I’ll take good care of it.”

He would have been happy to leave it there, waste away the morning and the day sleepily in Inaho’s arms, but he felt the brunet’s hand on the nape of his neck, its touch alone enough to stop him from pulling back too far.

“We have all day,” the brunet said, tone bland, but Slaine had long ago learned to watch the brown eyes, and the languid desire in them could still make his pulse race and his face flush like he was a teenager all over again.

“Do you ever think of anything else?” he asked exasperatedly, but he let Inaho capture his left hand and weave their fingers together, and he pretended to not notice the hand on his back slipping under his shirt.

“Is there something wrong with thinking only about your lover?”

Slaine didn’t need to reply, his mouth otherwise occupied with Inaho’s lips and teeth and tongue. The brunet was an island of warm comfort as he pressed closer, and he didn’t need a ring on his finger to remind him this was where he belonged.


End file.
